Page 76 of Avenged

We ate breakfast at The Tilt-Away—huge cinnamon rolls which were as big as Jersey’s head—before meandering down the rows of vendor booths. I wished I could take her hand and pull her close to me, but she seemed quiet this morning. It still seemed different from before the visit to the jail, more relaxed than on guard, but holding her hand in public declared more than the friendship I’d professed and she was barely accepting. It was different from pinkies entwined on a couch in the privacy of my own home.

Today, Jersey had her hair up in some braided contraption twisting around the top of her head. It wasn’t quite Princess Leia style, but it was still intricate. It showed off her slender neck and accented her cheeks. It drew attention to her pale eyes framed with dark lashes and eyebrows that contrasted with her frosty hair and skin. She was a series of oxymorons. Dark and light. Fear and bravery. Open wounds and hidden scars.

She stopped a few times at different booths, but nothing seemed to strike her fancy for long. There were a lot of craft booths with ocean-related themes. The tourists were eating it up like it was the last candy bar in town, but I could see Jersey wasn’t impressed with any of it. She’d grown up here, immersed in all things sea-related.

At a booth full of homemade hats and scarves that were enough to make me itch in the humidity of July, I stopped and pulled on a knitted jester’s hat with bells at the points.

“What do you think?” I asked, trying very hard to keep my mouth from smirking.

She rolled her eyes, took a picture, and then said with a smile, “It fits the image you want people to think of you.”

I twirled and pretended to juggle, and she finally let loose a laugh. My heart swirled, and I bowed with a gallant wave of my arms.

“You’re making a scene,” she teased without the fear or scold I might have heard in her voice when I first moved back to New London.

“I did warn you,” I said, but I took the hat and put it back on the rack.

When I turned back to her, she had entered a booth full of plants, custom-painted pots, and gardening supplies. I watched her from outside the booth. Her outfit was as much a contrast as Jersey herself. The jean shorts she wore hugged her curves tightly while the flowy, white top hid what was beneath it. The thin-strapped blouse sparkled in the sunlight with lace and beads, drawing attention to her in a way she normally hated. She didn’t realize she was turning heads.

But how could anyone see her and not look twice? I couldn’t look away.

She spent time perusing the ferns and flowering shrubs. I didn’t know a pot of tomatoes from a pot of azaleas, but Jersey seemed to know them all. Her lips turned up a little when she spotted a small plant with bright-green leaves and tiny white flowers. She picked it up and headed toward the register. I forced myself out of my reverie and took it from her.

“I’ve got it,” I told her.

“You already bought me enough,” she said, referring to the book of tickets she held in her hand. She’d been ruffling through them as we walked instead of twisting her ring, but it was the same energy causing her to do it.

I knew if I said I wasn’t letting her buy anything today, she would stop looking. She wouldn’t show interest in a freebie, let alone anything that cost actual dollars and cents. She’d come a long way in accepting things from people, but she still had it ingrained in her to reject it at first.

“It’s a plant, Jers. I think I can afford it.”

I paid the man and watched as her hand ran over a pot with dancing fairies painted all around it. When she caught me looking, she removed her hand immediately, proving what I’d thought all along. I turned back to the register.

“How much for the pot?”

“A hundred dollars,” he said, and I swore internally, because I knew she’d kill me if I bought it.

We left the booth, me carrying the bag with the plant in it.

I sent Dawson a text explaining the booth, the pot, and the price. I told him if he could get it for me, I’d owe him big time.

DAWSON: Anything for my sister-in-law.

ME: She hates being called that.

DAWSON: No. She just hates that it was done for the wrong reasons.

ME: You’re the one who told me it was the right thing to do.

DAWSON: It was.

ME: You’re not making any sense.

DAWSON: Stop texting me and show her she can’t live without you.

ME: ** eye roll emoji **

DAWSON: Seriously, dude, you have a hot chick at your side, and you’re spending time texting me emojis. You have way less game than I thought.

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